Summoned Chaos (26 page)

And I’m pretty lucky to have one
, I thought.

With the big-ticket items complete, I found little could keep me from worrying about the ball, not even a cup of Joe from my favorite local coffee shop. I gave up trying to distract myself and reluctantly drove to the townhouse.

More protesters had arrived, bringing with them a flotilla of new signs. I ignored them, pulled into the garage, and dumped my stuff on the sofa.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed. Sadly, it was a voicemail from Andrew, not Seamus.

“Again, great job this morning. The station got a lot of positive feedback which is good for the Skilled. That’s how we handle the media.”

I listened to the message again, chastising myself for the way I’d treated him. Andrew, like Quinn and Steve, was simply trying to help. He’d been hired to assist me and until that morning, I’d brushed off most of his attempts. He deserved better than that.

Like it or not, Quinn was right—I was doing a lot of good for my people. And there was plenty more I
could
do if I would just stop being so juvenile about things. I had responsibilities. To the Council, to the Normals, and to the Shifter family name.

Which meant showing the people around me how I truly felt and not hiding behind the mask I’d been wearing for the media.

Screwing up my courage, I marched down the stairs, out the door, and across the street to the media bonanza. The reporters quieted as I approached and were actually hesitant at first to talk with me. Several asked a few benign questions, but eventually everyone relaxed. Then they machine-gunned me about recent events, including my interview earlier that morning, while the protesters shouted insults. Several cops, including the one who’d broken up the fight last time, watched cautiously.

I was flying on autopilot, smiling and laughing like I should have been doing all along—until a bulky reporter guy pulled me back to earth.

“So, Marcus, any comment on your friend, the Minotaur?”

I paused, collecting my emotions before answering. “The attack on
Steve
was a shock. He seems rough on the outside, but he’s one of the nicest guys I know. Which is why I can’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt him.”

“Rumor has it the people responsible were Normals,” a pretty journalist said.

I stared deep into her eyes. “I hope it’s just a rumor.”

She frowned, either out of discomfort or confusion. “Why is that?”

“Because of this.” I swept a hand toward the protesters. “I understand that reintroducing the Skilled and the paranormal races is still relatively new to a lot of people. I also get that it can be scary because we
are
so different than the norm. But the thought that anyone, Normal or otherwise, would attempt to kill another person simply because they are different is beyond me. There is no argument that the world has changed over the past twenty years, but if that’s the case, why are we still behaving like we’re in the dark ages? Not to mention, what do we gain from it?”

“Safety!” someone shouted from the nearby protesters. I turned to the group.

Scared, hateful eyes stared back at me.

I inhaled, then walked slowly to the barrier in front of the protesters. The reporters followed while the noise from the other crowd quieted. Several people backed away, eyes wide.

For the first time since the crowds had appeared outside my home, it dawned on me that everyone, reporters and protesters, seemed reluctant to get near me. No one had been following me when I ran my errands nor did they get in my face when I walked by. Instead, they’d kept their distance, engaging me directly only after I approached them.

Maybe recent events had convinced them that it was dangerous to get within close proximity.

Or maybe they were simply terrified of me.

That last thought was sobering. I’d nearly lost my cool the last time I confronted them, so maybe their fears weren’t off base. And all it took was a tiny drop of fear to poison the well of trust.

No more. It was time they knew who I really was.

“Hi,” I said, reaching the sawhorse barricade. “My name is Marcus.”

“Freak!” someone called from the back of the group.

“What’s your name?” I asked a young woman in the front.

She blinked. “Uh...Janet.”

“Nice to meet you, Janet.”

The woman just stared back at me, saying nothing.

“What do you know about me?”

Janet remained silent.

“Did you know that I grew up in a wealthy home? Or that my parents are some of the most loving people in the world?”

She shook her head.

“Did you know that I love beekeeping?”

Another shake.

“I do. It’s the best hobby on the planet. It’s fun and relaxing. Anytime I’m troubled, I spend a few hours with my hives. The honey is mind-blowingly good too.”

“Um—” she started to say.

“But you know I’m a Warlock,” I interjected. “And you fear that.”

Janet nodded slowly.

“Because you’re a demon!” someone else shouted.

“Hardly,” I called in the direction of the voice. “But I did accidentally summon one when I was a kid.”

The crowd quieted.

“You see, I was cocky and powerful. That’s a very dangerous combination when you’re a teenager. All those raging hormones mashed together with a sense of entitlement? Recipe for disaster. Which is exactly what happened. I wanted to prove how much better I was than my peers. Part of that is because the Skilled jockey for respect based on their powers. The other part is because my folks are some of the most powerful Skilled in recent times. I needed to show everyone I was worthy to carry the family name. So I pushed the envelope, using spells that I shouldn’t have, and summoned a Hellcat. Big, flaming lion of death. Sounds like a really bad movie, right?”

Janet seemed unsure how to answer.

“Here’s the thing,” I continued, “that beast murdered a lot of my friends. Killed them right before my eyes. Almost killed me too.” I pulled my collar down to expose the white line that ran below my neckline. “This is one of the many scars I carry from that day. The rest? They’re in here.” I tapped my chest.

“See?” a man next to Janet shouted to the crowd. “The Skilled are a threat. What prevents you all from endangering us with some creature like that?”

“The same thing that should have prevented a group of kids from nearly beating my best friend to death simply because he’s different.”

The crowd mumbled, but there was no response.

I turned back to the girl. “You see, Janet, I made a mistake, a deadly one at that. So I walked away from the Skilled world. I tried to disappear into my own shame and sorrow, tried to become like you. I wanted nothing more than to be a Normal. But the faces of those who died to protect me wouldn’t leave me alone. I saw them in my nightmares, heard their screams, and felt their hot blood splatter my face again and again. It got to the point where I realized I could never outrun my screw-up. All I could do was learn from it. So I came back. Restarted my training, and dedicated my life to ensuring something like that doesn’t happen again.”

The protesters fidgeted. Some appeared bored with my story, their animosity and resentment covering them like a blanket. A surprising number, however, were listening intently. I focused on the latter’s interest, drawing strength from the cracks in the mob mentality.

Because they needed to know.

“My family, and the Skilled as a whole, put themselves out there every day to prevent monsters like that Hellcat from killing innocent people. Yes, I was the cause of that incident and I will carry the blood of those who died on these hands for the rest of my life.

“But my blood,” I said, pulling my sword from the scabbard and drawing the blade across my palm. “My blood I will gladly spill to protect
you
, Janet. It doesn’t matter that you fear me, hate me, or detest my friends. This,” I showed her my bloody palm, “is dedicated to making sure you have the opportunity to live your hate-filled life. Because that’s what me and my kind do. I hope someday you all can accept that.”

Janet stared wide eyed, as did several others around her. The majority of protesters, however, slowly grumbled—the volume of their dissent rising until it drowned the sound of reporters talking into the recording devices.

“This is for you,” I whispered. “Remember that, always.” I stepped back, waving my bloody palm at the crowd, then walked slowly to my home.

Once inside, I leaned against the door with a sigh. The emotional outpouring of hate and fear from the protesters was more powerful than I’d realized. Apparently my Skill had subconsciously insulated me from the deluge, but once removed, the effects crashed into me like a tidal wave. It slammed into the dam of my own emotions.

With no one around to witness, I released my hold.

I sank to the cold tile, sobbing uncontrollably as the weeks of pent-up frustration bled from my system.

The hurt caused by Quinn’s randomness in our relationship, the anger of the bloggers’ death, the fear at seeing Steve beaten and broken—it all rushed out of me in a huge, emotional hurricane. Tears poured down my cheeks as I placed my head into my hands.

Andrew called, no doubt because the news of my display had traveled quickly. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. This time I silenced the phone, dropping it on the floor next to me.

I stayed there, leaning against the door, until the raw, unfiltered pain was finally purged from my system.

As the last, lingering strands flowed out of me, I wiped my eyes, then checked the time.

Two hours was all that remained. Two hours before I threw down the gauntlet and hopefully cracked the nut of this week wide open. And when that happened, all hell was bound to break loose.

The least I could do was look presentable.

Chapter Twenty

Where There’s Smoke, There’s More Smoke

There’s a saying in the Navy that Time, Tide and Formation wait for no one. No truer is that the case than when impending doom is looming over you. By the time I’d showered, shaved and dressed, my time was up.

The sun was beginning to set when the expensive black sedan pulled in front of my home. Realizing that my bloody palm was a pretty decent symbol, I healed only the pain, but didn’t bother stitching the wound closed.

Instead, I hastily applied antibiotic cream, wrapping it in a bandage so the gauze would stain red.

Satisfied that I looked the part of the self-sacrificing Warlock, and maybe even believing it for once, I tightened the holster under my robes, pulled my sword over my back, then exited my home.

As I walked to the car, a painful sense of déjà vu clawed at my heart. Last time I’d made this walk, Steve was with me. It didn’t matter that the doctors seemed to think he would be okay.

My friend was still in a hospital.

And there was nothing I could do to help except hope and pray.

I hated feeling powerless. Hated my own species for hurting someone I cared about. Hated myself for being a jerk to him.

Adding to the hurricane of emotions was fear and anxiety. I was going to play ringmaster this evening, performing before a crowd of hundreds. But the show I had planned wasn’t meant to be entertaining. With any luck, my production would expose a traitor once and for all.

And that scared the crap out of me.

Not that the people across the road would ever know. I wore my mask well—smiling wide for the cameras. Let them see the media darling that they wanted. But let them also know that behind my smile was a sense of duty. Of purpose. Let them remember what I was willing to sacrifice to protect them.

I waved with my bandaged hand. The crowd quieted momentarily.

“This is yours,” I whispered, then stepped to the car.

The driver opened the door—and I froze.

Quinn was absolutely stunning in her white formal gown. The silky material hugged her athletic frame, covering every inch of skin except for the shoulders and arms. A long slit ran up her leg, exposing the elegant handle of her Elven knife. Her hair seemed darker which complimented the starkness of her dress. She wore simple, sparkling diamond earrings and carried a small clutch. Her scimitar rested against the car door, the jewels of the sword’s hilt glinted in the setting sun.

The white, knee-high combat boots added a sultry element I didn’t expect. I warmed all over.

“Hey, handsome,” she said with a wicked grin. “Wanna take a ride with me?”

My mouth moved, but no words came out.

Uneasiness replaced the humor on her face. “Okay, now you’re making me self-conscious.”

“It’s just—” I stammered, sliding into the seat next to her. “Wow. You look amazing.”

She grinned. “Thank you. I was hoping you’d approve.”

The driver shut the door, then eased behind the wheel.

Her eyes moved to my hand. “What in the world happened?”

“I...was making a point earlier.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re really rough on your body, you know that?”

I gave her the once-over again. “Well, you’re not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with make-up.”

She touched her hair. “It’s a special occasion. I wanted to look my best.”

“I thought you weren’t ready to come out of the shadows,” I said tentatively.

She slid her hand into my undamaged one, squeezing my fingers. “I’m not, but you need me to be. And I figured if I was going to step into the light for a while, I might as well make it memorable.”

Her touch calmed the torrent swirling inside me. Just having her next to me gave me the confidence to face what was coming.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said softly.

She smiled. “Me too. So, any word?”

I shook my head. “Still waiting to hear from Seamus.”

“What happens if he doesn’t get you the proof in time?”

“Then I’ll bluff.”

Quinn grew serious. “Are you sure that’s wise? Making these accusations in public without hard evidence will ruin your career.”

“I know, but it has to happen tonight. Having the Skilled elite in one room minimizes the chance things will get out of hand.”

“And if it does go south?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, fighting the fear that welled up within me once more.

She leaned over, pressing herself against me.

I wrapped an arm around her. “I’m scared,” I finally admitted.

Quinn kissed me on the cheek, then wiped her lipstick off with her thumb. “I know. And I’ll have your back, no matter what happens.”

My eyes filled with tears. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I held her tight, clinging to the stillness her presence had on me like a drowning man.

The drive to the venue was disappointingly short, forcing me to detach from Quinn sooner than I hoped. The car pulled around to the front entrance, stopped, and the driver ran around to open the door for us.

I gave Quinn a final glance. “Last chance to bail.”

She shook her head. “No. We’re doing this.”

I held her hand. “Okay then. Show time.”

Camera flashes greeted me as I exited the car, then increased exponentially when my date eased out of the back seat. She unfolded like an orchid, elegantly rising to her full height and slipping her arm through mine. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky as she absorbed the crush of media attention.

“Oh my,” she said, scanning the throng of reporters. “Is this what you’ve been dealing with?”

I waved at one of the countless cameras. “Pretty much. Not with this ferocity, though. That’s all for you.”

She beamed. “I feel like royalty.”

“Apparently the media is willing to treat you like it, so enjoy.”

“Marcus!” a reporter shouted. “Marcus, over here!”

Quinn bumped me with her hip. “Gloves are off, babe. Let’s go get ‘em.”

The process was slow and painful, but necessary. We worked our way down the line of cameras and microphones, answering questions along the way. I didn’t draw a breath of relief until we cleared the gauntlet and passed through the doors to the venue.

Andrew greeted us as we entered. On his arm was a bronze-skinned man with deep, green eyes who introduced himself as Carlos.

“A pleasure to finally meet you.” The handsome man’s voice was deep and rich.

I shook his hand. “Same.”

Andrew turned to Quinn. “May I just say that the way you handled yourself out there was inspirational.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

He gave me a wink. “I don’t know where you found her, Marcus, but you hold on to this one.”

I pulled her a little closer. “Oh, I will.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, glancing at my bandage. “Because she covers for your flaws better than I do.”

I grinned. “Stopped a bullet, ninja-style.”

Quinn snickered.

Carlos pulled on his husband’s arm. “Andrew, let these poor young lovers enjoy their night.”

Andrew nodded. “Very well. Enjoy the evening.”

Quinn leaned against me as they departed. “I like them.”

I squeezed her hand. “Yeah, me too.”

The doors to the dining hall were still closed, so we walked to the check-in table to pick up our seat assignments and fill out nametags. I put mine on, then handed Quinn hers.

“Yolanda, Mistress of the Night?”

“Yup.” I proudly showed off mine which read “Ramón, Emperor of Awesome.”

Quinn laughed, then placed her nametag over her left breast. “I could get used to being in public with you.”

I stared at the nametag. “Very nice.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s get drinks.”

The great thing about Washington, D.C. is that there is no shortage of formal venues. For years we’d hosted our annual Reformation Ball in smaller locations, but the recent spike in attendance—no doubt caused by the sudden interest in the Skilled—had forced us to expand.

For the twentieth anniversary, the Council had reserved the Georgetown University Hotel and Conference Center. A pretty building in North West D.C. that catered to weddings as often as business meetings, it shared space with the Georgetown University campus. Although not as nouveau riche as some Councilmembers would have liked, the red-brick exterior and clean, classy interior fit the lighthearted tone of the evening better than any place before it.

Too bad I might have to ruin everything.

This year was also remarkable because of the overabundance of Normals. In addition to staffers and guards that worked at HQ, I saw a ton of new faces. As Quinn and I made our way to the bar, I spotted Carla Jones, who waved us over eagerly. Mr. Charisma scowled.

I hesitated.

“What?” Quinn asked.

“Rumor has it she’s not happy I went around her back.”

Quinn waved back. “She doesn’t appear mad. Let’s go find out for sure.”

My protests fell on deaf ears as Quinn dragged me over. I braced for a tongue-lashing, but Carla broke into a wide grin, hugging me politely. Her bodyguard glared at me.

“You, sir, are my hero,” she said when she released me. “Getting the ball rolling with Father Pierce and the Mosaic Group? That was a stroke of genius. You accomplished in a day what I’ve been struggling to do for months!”

“My dad should get the credit,” I stammered, still trying to process her words. “All I did was hand him Pastor Rado’s card.”

Carla waved a dismissive hand at me. “Oh stop being so humble. Alex told me you were his ‘point man,’ so that’s good enough for me.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I don’t know how you did it and frankly, I don’t care. Suffice to say, I’ll remember this.” She stood up once more, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

She and Quinn traded pleasantries, then Mr. Charisma whispered in her ear.

“See you inside,” she said.

I watched in shock as Carla followed the landmass into the crowd. “Well that was unexpected.”

“Indeed it was,” my father said from behind me. I turned, smiling for real as Mom and Dad approached.

Dad was regal in his dress robes while Mom was absolutely stunning in her dress of all black with red piping. In addition she wore a white leather jacket that was traditional garb for a Huntress.

I shook Dad’s hand, then gasped as Mom crushed me in her arms. For a short, thin woman, she was surprisingly strong. The hug not only squeezed the breath out of me, but also much of the worry lingering behind my mask. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until that moment.

Nothing compared to Mom Hugs.

Nothing.

“Are you trying to put me in an early grave?” she asked, releasing me. I sucked down air like a drowning man.

Dad placed a hand on her arm. “Marcus is fine, Angela.”

Mom scowled at him. “His bandaged hand says otherwise.”

“Cut myself shaving,” I said.

She shot laser beams at me, then shifted her attention to Quinn. Matronly admonishment was immediately replaced with a look that seemed filled with the hope of grandchildren.

“You’re gorgeous this evening,” Mom said, hugging my date.

“Thank you,” Quinn squeaked.

Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “Ready for your big speech?”

“No,” I admitted.

Mom placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “You’ll do fine, sweetie.”

I wanted to believe her.

A waiter appeared and handed Quinn and me scotches. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he said, nodding toward Garrick Monroe. Alistair’s father was chatting with a group of Councilmembers, but paused to raise his glass to me. I gave him a thumbs-up and toasted him back.

I might not have his report yet, but I’d find it. And when I did, I’d remember his promise of support.

A man in an expensive tux opened a set of double doors, then turned to face the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is ready. Please proceed to your seats.”

We passed through the large double doors, threading through dozens of tables to our seats near the front. Elsa, who was stunning in a light blue gown, and Mick, who seemed as uncomfortable as I was in his formal robes, joined us.

I shook Elsa’s hand. “Great job this morning.”

She kissed me lightly on the cheek. “You too. There was a lot of positive chatter in the green room after you left.”

Mick held the chair for Elsa, then thumped heavily into his own seat. “And here I thought you hated the press.”

“I do, but a very old, very wise man likened them to a weapon. Changed my perception on dealing with them entirely.”

The new couple chuckled as I removed my sword and sat.

The laughter quieted as Ambassador Jones, her husband, Elders Devon, Rancin, Watkins, Watkins’s wife and Father Pierce appeared at our table. We scooted our chairs out to stand.